Worth Dying For
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: This is my entry for the NFA Suspicious Minds challenge. It's mostly centered on Tim but it's more a team fic than anything else. Rather disturbing in its plot. Five chapters and an epilogue. Already complete. I'll post one chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is my entry for the NFA Suspicious Minds challenge. We had to have three players: the accuser, the defender and the accused. I played around with the requirements a little bit, and the result was this rather disturbing story. It has five chapters and an epilogue.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS. Too bad. I'm not making money off it. That's even sadder.

* * *

**Worth Dying For**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

Tim opened his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach, dizzy. He wondered why, but as he rolled over in bed, he promptly felt sick in quite another way. He quickly rolled back, over the edge of his bed and began to throw up all over the floor. He slumped back down in the sheets and tried to think...but he couldn't...and he rolled back over and looked again. He looked at himself, at the...the...body...laying on the bed beside him. He looked at the blood-soaked sheets, at his own blood-soaked clothes...and then, he looked at his hand and realized that he was holding a knife in it...a bloody knife.

Fractured memories from the night before flashed through his head, leaving him feeling even more dizzy than he had been before. A bar...a girl...the same girl who was... He began to feel the bile rise once more. He forced it down for the moment and tried to even out his breathing.

_Think. Think!_

He couldn't seem to let go of the knife.

More flashes of memory. Talking with the girl...arguing with her...yelling...the knife...

_Why am I holding the knife?_

He could see it now, a short burst of clear memory. He was grabbing the knife and waving it around. He was...holding it...like he was now...he was... Now, the bile rose again, more insistently, and he rolled to the side of the bed again and threw up once more.

Taking weak, trembling breaths, he began to cry, still holding the knife in hands.

_I killed her._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a bright and sunny Sunday morning, but Gibbs wasn't out enjoying it. He was where he usually was on Sunday mornings: in his basement. He might go out later on, but right now, he was intent on finishing one side of his boat. Thus, he was rather annoyed when his phone rang. Still, he was always on call and so he picked it up.

"Gibbs."

"_B-Boss..."_

The voice was so soft, so shaky that he wasn't sure, at first, who it was.

"Yes?"

"_Boss, I killed someone."_

"McGee?"

"_I killed someone."_

"McGee, what are you talking about?"

"_I killed someone, Boss."_

The board in his hand fell to the floor with an unnoticed clatter.

"Where are you, McGee?"

"_She's...she's right there. I-I killed her."_

Tim's voice was only slightly above a whisper, and he sounded out of his mind.

"Tim...where _are_ you?"

"_In bed...she's...I yelled...I had the knife...I killed her."_

"You're at home?"

"_It's...I...Boss...I..."_

There was a rather disgusting sound and Gibbs winced at the feedback as Tim dropped the phone.

"Tim, stay where you are. I'll be right there. You hear me?"

Harsh breathing took the place of the previous noise. _"I killed her, Boss."_

"McGee. Stay. There. Got it?"

There was no verbal response. Instead, there was the sound of Tim starting to sob. Gibbs was in his car and starting to drive over. He tried to get Tim to talk, but mostly, he just said that he'd killed someone. Thankfully, he didn't vomit into the phone again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee?" Gibbs called as he came into the apartment, his gun drawn. The door was unlocked. The floor in the main room was strewn with clothing and rose petals. Feeling his heart clench with worry, Gibbs walked back to the bedroom.

Tim was sitting on the bed, half-naked, staring at the equally-unclothed body of a woman who had mostly likely been beautiful at one time. Now, she was...not. Tim was clenching a knife tightly in his right hand, his phone in his left...which was the opposite of what Gibbs might have expected.

"McGee," he repeated, gently.

Tim was staring in horror at the body.

"I killed her," he said softly.

"Why?"

"I was angry. I remember being angry...and hurt. That must be why."

"Must be? Don't you know?"

"I can't really remember. It's...fuzzy. I drank too much, I think. That must be it. I was mad."

"McGee...do you remember killing her?"

Tim was obviously disoriented and a sour smell in the air told Gibbs that Tim was probably not feeling his best.

He held out the knife. "I can't put it down. Boss, I was holding it when I woke up. I can't put it down. It's bloody...it must be what I used to kill her."

"Why?"

"She was nice...laughing...Tony was..."

"Tony was there?"

"Yeah...somewhere. I don't really remember. I was...I thought...she wasn't...and I killed her."

Gibbs sighed and pulled out his phone again.

"_This had better be really important,"_ Tony said groggily into the phone.

"Tony, get your lazy butt out of bed and get over to McGee's place. Grab an evidence kit on your way."

"_Evidence kit? Why? That crazy chick clean him out? I told him she was bad–"_

"She's dead, DiNozzo. In McGee's bed...and he's claiming that he killed her."

"_What?"_ Tony didn't sound groggy now. _"No way, Boss. He couldn't have."_

"Just get over here. We need to process the scene and I'd like to get it done myself, rather than call in the local LEOs."

"_Time me. I'll be there."_

"I'll do that." He hung up and turned his attention back to Tim. He was still sitting there, looking rather out of it. If it had been anyone else in this situation, Gibbs knew he would have assumed heavy drinking followed by a crime of passion. ...but this wasn't anyone else. This was Tim...who, at most, drank a couple of glasses of wine. Offhand, Gibbs couldn't think of a single time when Tony had teased Tim for drinking too much...and Tony _would_ have done that had it happened.

"Tim, tell me what happened."

Vaguely, Tim waved the bloody knife in the air. "I killed her...I remember...I was mad...about something...and I...had the knife, but I don't know why."

"Do you remember actually _stabbing_ her?"

Tim didn't answer. As soon as he could, Gibbs wanted to get him to a hospital, to get a blood and urine test, but he didn't dare do that just yet.

"Who is she, Tim?"

"Girl at a bar...she was...nice...but Tony said she wasn't." Tim began to cry again, hiding his face in his arms. "I killed her, Boss! I killed someone! I don't even know why!"

Mindful of not disturbing the scene...or stepping in Tim's vomit, Gibbs sat down beside Tim and put an arm around him, not sure if he was more bothered by the dead woman or by Tim's insistence that he'd killed her himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hello?"

"Back here, DiNozzo," came a swift reply.

Tony walked back, past the rose petals and clothes, thinking that it was a strange little scene there...and then, stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Tim crying his eyes out, wearing only boxers...and covered in blood, most likely belonging to the blonde who was sprawled out on the other half of the bed.

"I knew she was bad news," he whispered.

Gibbs didn't reply, nor did Tim. Instead, Gibbs stood up and got out a pair of gloves. Tony swallowed and followed suit.

In an effort to stay relatively objective, Tony brought Gibbs up to speed as they walked back into the main room.

"I called Ziva; she should be here any second. Ducky's on his way, and I put Abby on standby."

Gibbs' voice was low. "Let's get this done as fast as we can. I think McGee's been drugged."

"Drugged?" Tony asked incredulously. "I knew it was a bad idea. She had bad vibes. I _told_ him."

"Told him, how, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, shrewdly.

Tony shifted back and forth awkwardly. "Well...I might have said something along the lines of sane women avoiding him at all costs...but I _meant _it when I said there was something off about her."

"And I wonder why he didn't listen to you, DiNozzo," Gibbs grumbled as he walked back to Tim. "Can I take the knife now, McGee?"

Tim was staring blankly at the wall.

"McGee?"

"Boss?"

"I need the knife. Okay?"

"I can't let go."

"Just open your hand," he said patiently.

Tim looked at him fearfully. "I can't let go!" He shook his right hand and either he was more out of it than Gibbs thought he was or else the knife really was stuck to him. "I can't let it go!" he said more frantically.

"Okay, okay, McGee. Stay calm."

"And...the knife...I saw it...I was holding it. I saw it go...down and up and down and...and I couldn't let it go!"

"It's all right, McGee."

"No, it's not!" Tim said, his eyes bright. "No...it's not all right. I killed her. I was holding the knife...and I...I did it!"

Tim was now waving his arm around, trying to drop the knife that appeared to be permanently attached to his hand.

"Stop it, McGee!"

"I can't let it go!" he said.

Gibbs caught Tim's arm and held it still.

"Let me look!"

Tim stopped flailing and allowed Gibbs to examine his hand. He sighed.

"Tony?"

Tony stuck his head in. "Yeah, Boss?"

"We're going to need some acetone."

"Acetone? Why?"

"Someone superglued the knife to McGee's hand."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tony looked sickened by that statement, but he just nodded and withdrew his head. The door opened and Gibbs heard the arrival of the other team members.

"I was told I had a body to process, Tony. I must admit that it shocked me to find that I was coming to Timothy's abode."

"In there, Ducky. Ziva, acetone?"

"Do I look like someone who wears nail polish, Tony?"

"Ziva!"

"Very well. I will find something."

"Oh, dear!" Ducky exclaimed. "Timothy, what happened here?"

Tim's eyes shifted from his hand to Ducky. "I killed her, Ducky."

Ducky was uncharacteristically speechless but he rallied and began to assess the body.

"Hmmm...yes, well...There are no defensive wounds which is odd."

Not, however, as odd as having the alleged culprit trying to explain how he had done it...when it was clear that he didn't know himself.

"She must have been asleep when I stabbed her," Tim said. "I didn't give her a chance to defend herself."

"Liver temperature indicates that she died approximately five hours ago."

"What time is it now?"

"Nearly eight."

"I was in the bar until...I remember it being one o'clock. I wanted to go. Tony wouldn't let me. I wanted to leave. So...I stayed."

"I found it!" Ziva announced suddenly. She walked into the room, holding a bottle of nail polish remover. She visibly faltered at the sight of Ducky readying a body for transport and Tim sitting on the bed, looking as though his life was over, but she covered that quickly. "We should document this, yes?" It was a genuine question.

"Yeah," Gibbs said in resignation. "McGee, hold out your hands."

Quickly, he took photos of Tim holding the knife, zooming in on the places where the superglue could be seen through the blood. He also took samples of the blood on Tim's hands. There would be nothing with which they could be reproached in their procedures. Then, he stepped back and let Ziva take his place. Her mouth twitched briefly as if she was aching to ask why the woman was being left to deal with the nail polish remover, but she didn't say a word about it. Instead, she sat down and took Tim's hand gently in her own. Tim was still staring, horror-stricken, at the body.

"So, McGee, tell me what happened last night."

"I killed someone, Ziva," Tim said, blinking his eyes rapidly and pulling slightly on the hand currently being de-weaponized.

"No, McGee, from the beginning. I need to know everything you did. You know how it works."

"It's...not clear," Tim said, visibly trying to pull himself together...and failing.

"That is just fine. Start at the beginning," Ziva said, keeping her voice soft and calm while she began the tedious process of dissolving the superglue. "When did you and Tony go to the club?"

No response.

"Tim?" she asked. "Please, pay attention."

"He...came to my place at...ten...I think. He said that I couldn't be a hermit anymore, that even Neo had gone to a club in order to find Trinity." Tim paused, appearing to be thinking really hard. "...and then, he told me to follow the white rabbit."

Ziva was about ready to write Tim off as completely crazy when Tony leaned into view.

"That's from _The Matrix_ in case you didn't know," he said. "The first movie was the best of the three...I keep hoping they'll make another..." A hand appeared and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Get back to work, Tony."

"Yes, Boss." His head disappeared from view.

"You were saying, McGee?" she asked, more relieved than she revealed.

"I went. I didn't really want to, but..." Finally, an expression other than horror or blankness appeared on his face. He gave a frustrated smile. "You know Tony. It would have been harder to get rid of him."

"Indeed."

"We went and Tony told me that I had to find a girl. I wasn't interested. I told him that I have bad taste...or else they're not interested. He agreed."

Ziva kept silent. She began to rub his thumb back and forth until it was finally free. One down. Four to go...plus his palm.

"He said that it was time to break my streak." Tim swallowed and looked at the body again. Then, he looked toward the empty doorway. "Does this count?"

"Go on, McGee," Ziva said, not sure which answer would be better in this case. She got a finger free.

"I tried. I danced with a few people, but...nothing. I was getting tired of it and I had decided to leave. Tony wouldn't let me go. He said I had to keep trying...to get back on the horse. I told him that I didn't ride horses."

"How much were you drinking?"

"It must have been a lot."

"No, how much do you remember drinking up to that point?"

"A couple. Three at most. No hard liquor. We don't get along."

Another finger free.

"She...she came in...but she was...not by herself. She said he was just a friend and that they weren't together."

"What did he look like?"

"Um..." Tim closed his eyes. "I...I think he was...tall. He had spiky hair, really short, you know?" He paused. "It's so fuzzy."

"Did you get his name?"

"Dave...I think. I think she said his name was Dave. I didn't really... He looked...really serious, but she didn't. She was...fun. She invited me to go out of the bar with her, walk around for a while where we could hear ourselves think. I liked that idea...but I wanted to tell Tony. He was...close by and told me that I shouldn't go, that she was crazy...because she was showing an interest in me."

Finger number three. Just the pinky left.

"I'm sure he did."

"I was mad at him and so I left. She followed and we talked...I think. I think we...went to...another bar? Somewhere? I had...one more drink...I think...maybe...maybe more. She...she asked me something. She was laughing and I was mad." He sighed. "I can...I can hear her, but I can't...can't think of what she said. But I remember being really mad. I was going to leave and I didn't feel very good."

The pinky was free and Ziva had to uncurl Tim's fingers herself. She was essentially soaking his hand in the nail polish remover in an attempt to free the knife. Tim's narrative stuttered to a halt as Ducky and Jimmy (who had arrived a bit late) put the woman's body into a bag for transport. He swallowed convulsively but he didn't throw up again.

"What else do you remember, McGee?"

Tim's fingers absently flexed.

"I was here. I don't know how. I don't remember. She...she was laying there. I was still mad...and I was...was afraid, confused. I don't know. I was looking at her and I was...my arm was moving up and down...up and down...and I was stabbing her. Over and over again. I don't know why!" Tim reached out and grabbed Ziva's wrist with his left hand. "I don't know why! I watched myself do it. I...I killed her. I killed her."

Ziva paused in her ministrations to cover Tim's bloody hand with her own. "I do not think you did, McGee."

"No! I _did_! Don't you understand? I _saw_ it happen. I was there...here...and...I just can't remember why. I must have had a reason. I know I was mad at her...something...something was wrong...and I killed her for it. Maybe I was drunk and she said no...and I wasn't interested in hearing no. Maybe I..." Tim couldn't go on. "Maybe I'm just crazy...and I didn't _have _a reason."

"Are you trying to tell me that you superglued the knife to your own hand?" Ziva asked, keeping a tight grip as Tim's agitation increased.

"Maybe I was worried about dropping it!"

That was almost enough to make Ziva laugh until she looked into his eyes and saw that he was serious. Tim really thought he had killed that woman and was determined to make sure that everyone else realized it.

_It is a good thing he called Gibbs before the police,_ she thought. Ziva was willing to bet that Tim would already be in a holding cell had he thought of calling Metro PD first...and he would have thought that he deserved it. He needed someone arguing his case right now because he wasn't going to do it on his own.

The knife came free...finally. Ziva carefully put it into an evidence bag.

"Gibbs, I am finished," she called.

Gibbs came in, followed by Tony who had remained uncharacteristically silent during the investigation thus far.

"Good. Come on, McGee. We need to get you checked out at the hospital."

"Why?"

"Blood tests."

"You need to know my blood-alcohol content?" he asked.

"Something like that." He rummaged in Tim's drawers, found a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and held them out. "Put these on. Can't have you walking around half naked."

Tim unfolded his legs and stood up from the bloody bed. When he got to his feet, he swayed a little and put his hand to his head. Ziva had to steady him, while avoiding the...puddle beside his bed.

"Dizzy," he mumbled and took a step which resulted in a stumble against Ziva, nearly knocking her over. "Sorry."

"It is all right. Are you okay?"

"Just...off...I'm okay." He weaved a little as he walked over to Gibbs, looking none-too-steady. He pulled on the shirt and then tried to put on his pants but over-balanced and nearly fell to the floor again. Gibbs had to help him sit down on a chair. Ziva found a pair of shoes and tossed them to Gibbs. Tim managed to put them on, but when he stood up, he again had trouble keeping on his feet.

"Let's go, McGee," Gibbs said, a steadying hand clasping his arm. As they left, he looked back over his shoulder at Tony who was just finishing in the main room and Ziva who had come to the doorway. "You two finish up. Don't miss _anything_."

They understood. No matter what they had to collect all the evidence. While neither of them believed that Tim was guilty, the fact that _he_ believed he was made their job more difficult. Not only did they have to prove it to the law, they had to prove it to Tim. ...and that would be a harder job.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Her name was...Allison...or...Alissa...something with A's and L's and...S's," Tim mumbled as they waited for the test results.

"Just wait, McGee."

"I remember how it felt...it was wrong...but I couldn't not do it."

Gibbs turned his gaze from the door, which he'd been giving the evil eye in the hopes of _forcing_ the doctors to come back in, back to his agent. Tim was sitting, fidgeting on the table, rubbing his hands together as if he could get rid of the stain that he perceived still being there. His right hand was red, no longer with blood but with irritation from the superglue and the acetone used to dissolve the bond. His right hand kept curling, as if still holding the knife. He reached over and touched Tim's hands, pushing them down to his lap.

"Calm down, McGee."

"I'm a murderer, Boss. I'm finding it hard to be calm."

Gibbs smiled at that. It had been two hours they'd waited and Tim was slowly regaining his grip on reality...but he had not lost his certainty that he'd killed the girl in his bed.

"I told you already that I think you were drugged, McGee."

Tim made a disgusted sound at the suggestion and resumed rubbing his hands together. "How are you going to explain away the fact that I remember stabbing her, Boss? How can you explain away the fact that we were in _my_ bed...almost naked? How are you going to explain away the fact that Tony saw us together, that I remember going with her, that I remember being angry at her, that I was covered with her blood, that–?"

"With the truth, McGee," Gibbs said, smoothly cutting off his rant. He met Tim's eyes briefly and saw the desolation in them before Tim looked away.

"I know the truth, Boss. You're the one who doesn't want to accept it."

"How much of your conviction is due to Tony's wisecrack and you believing _that_ and how much is due to what you remember?"

Tim didn't get a chance to answer...although whether or not he _would_ have was questionable.

"All right, Agent McGee. We got the results of your tests. The saliva was inconclusive which is typical considering what your blood and urine tests revealed."

"So what is it?" Gibbs asked.

"I was drunk, wasn't I."

"No, you weren't, Agent McGee. There's no doubt that you drank last night but that wasn't what caused your amnesia, your dizziness or your mental confusion."

Tim looked up. "So, what was it?"

The doctor looked at Gibbs. "As you suspected, Agent Gibbs, your agent was drugged."

"Drugged?" Tim asked, his eyes still showing the residual signs.

"Yes. Agent McGee, you were given a fairly high dose of flunitrazepam, which is better known by the market name Rohypnol or...in slang, a roofie."

Tim's mouth opened but no words came out.

The doctor smiled in sympathy. "It's hard to take in, I'm sure, especially considering you are more than likely still experiencing some of the side effects. Based on the levels we found in your blood and urine, you were dosed at around two a.m. this morning. The report given to us by Agent Gibbs regarding your symptoms tells me that it was probably put into an alcoholic drink. Alcohol and Rohypnol tend to synergize the adverse effects when taken together. It could have been much more dangerous for you than it was."

Tim swallowed and looked down once more.

"I wish it had been."

Gibbs nodded to the doctor and put his hand on Tim's back.

"You didn't do it, McGee."

"I remember doing it, Boss. Drugged or not, I still remember it."

"Just like Sarah _remembered_ killing that sailor?"

"That was different."

"Why? Because it was her? Do you think that she had any doubts about it once she'd remembered pieces?"

"She never remembered stabbing him. She just remembered parts. I remember using the knife."

"You're wrong, McGee." He looked back at the doctor. "How long would he have been able to function once he'd been drugged?"

"Well, it usually takes about twenty minutes for the effects to be felt. Sedation is usually first, followed by psychomotor impairment, particularly in your case, Agent McGee. I'd estimate forty minutes at most that you would be able even to walk to say nothing of any sort of demanding physical activity. After forty minutes, you might have been marginally conscious but suffering from ataxia...a loss of muscle coordination and probably wouldn't even have been thinking clearly. Depending on when what you remember took place, you could have been physically unable to do anything. In high enough doses, flunitrazepam can even depress respiration because it shuts down your higher functions."

"But I remember it."

"Nightmares are also common."

"No! I _remember_. It wasn't a nightmare. I remember it," Tim said.

Gibbs sighed. Tim was going to be harder to convince than a full jury.

"Thank you, Dr. Ruiz. If you could send the results to NCIS."

"You could take them with you."

"I don't want there to be any possibility of someone saying we manipulated the evidence. McGee is on my team."

Dr. Ruiz nodded. "Will do."

"Is there anything we need to do?"

"No. Just ride it out. Most of the effects will be gone within another few hours. He'll probably be somnolent and feeling like he has a hangover for most of the day, but he should be back to normal by tomorrow."

"Thanks. Come on, McGee. Let's go."

"Where to?"

"NCIS. We have to finish the investigation."

"Isn't already over?" Tim asked, starting to sound lethargic again.

"No. Not even close. Come on."

Tim stood, wobbled and was steadied by Gibbs once more. As they wended their unsteady way through the halls, Tim had focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Gibbs let him do it, but his hand was always on Tim's arm, ready to help him if he lost his balance again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Done?" Ziva asked.

"I think so. Fingerprints. Bloody sheets. Bloody clothes. Rose petals. Clothes. Glasses. Vomit. Are we missing anything?" Tony asked facetiously.

"The murder weapon?"

"Ha. You already have that. We've got it all. Abby's going to have such a fun day."

"I do not think her day would be fun no matter how much or how little we brought her. She will not like having to investigate McGee's guilt or innocence."

"McGee is innocent," Tony said firmly. "Get that straight right now, David. Innocent. No matter what he thinks happened, McGee wouldn't kill someone if..."

"...if the knife was glued to his hand?" Ziva finished.

"Sure."

"I do not think he did it, either...but the problem remains that _he_ believes he did."

"That's because it was McGee. I mean look at it from his computer-geek perspective. Logic dictates...but this is life, not a computer. There's nothing logical about this."

"No, there is not. We should lock the door after us. Do you have his keys?"

"Keys!" Tony said. "Someone had to have unlocked his door! ...somehow, based on how McGeek was acting, I doubt it was him."

A quick search found Tim's keys lying on the floor under his writing desk. It was with great hopes that they sealed them in an evidence bag after photographing their location.

"Okay, now do we have everything?"

"Everything but the bathroom sink," Ziva said.

"Kitchen."

"Does it make a difference?" she asked as they left the apartment, locking it behind them.

"I think the kitchen sink is heavier."

"Well, then, I guess we should leave it and take the bathroom sink instead."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was subdued but keeping herself in control.

"This is the stuff from...the scene?"

"Yeah. All of it."

"There's a lot."

"Yep. We didn't want to leave anything to chance."

"Okay," Abby said and sounded more like herself. She straightened, looking almost martial. "We won't leave _anything_ to chance. I didn't leave anything to chance when you were accused of murder, Tony...and of course, it was all a big old mistake. I know better than to think that forensics would fail me now. So, I will go through all of this and I will show exactly why it is impossible, illogical and...downright _stupid _to think that Tim might have had anything to do with killing this person. Ducky will be my backup in Autopsy and send me other things with which I will also prove Tim is innocent! There will be so much evidence proving his innocence that he might as well be recommended for sainthood!"

There was a short silence following her pronouncement.

"Abby...I think sainthood might be going a bit far," Tony said.

"You think?" she asked.

"I like the guy, too, but I think there are requirements for sainthood that McGee hasn't reached yet...for instance...being dead."

Abby smiled. "Okay."

"Will you be all right?" Ziva asked.

Martial once again, Abby nodded. "Major Mass Spec has not failed me yet. We will get to the bottom of this. You guys...go and get other evidence."

"Yes, ma'am," Tony said.

As they left, they heard Abby's music go on full blast and, for whatever reason, it made them feel better.

"What do you say to going barhopping?" Tony asked.

"Sounds like fun," Ziva said.

"I knew I'd get you on a date sometime."

"You have a poor idea of what constitutes a fun date if you include searching for someone who can tell us something that will clear McGee of murder in your list."

"Can you think of anything more romantic than clearing a friend's good name?"

Ziva rolled her eyes and got on the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Yeah, I remember her. She's been coming in the last few nights, always followed around by this other surly guy who doesn't say anything to anyone. She knows he's there; it's not like he's stalking her...although it sure looked like it," the bartender said. "I even asked her once. She just laughed and said he was a friend of hers."

"This surly guy, could you describe him?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. He's the kind of person who sticks out in your mind, you know? He was pretty tall. Maybe an inch or two on you. He had dark spiky hair, the kind that the really young guys like...and the guys who are not quite so young like to use it when they know they're not really in their twenties anymore." He paused. "Yours isn't quite spiky enough," he said to Tony.

Tony automatically rubbed his hair until he heard Ziva's snort of laughter. He cleared his throat.

"Were they here last night?"

"Yeah. She was picking up a guy...and her friend didn't seem very happy about it, either...not that he _ever_ seemed very happy."

"You seem very aware of their movements," Ziva commented.

"Yeah, well, that guy had the look of someone who could cause trouble. I don't like trouble. It usually leads to broken bottles, glasses...and other expensive problems. It's better for me if I keep tabs on the potential troublemakers."

"So...she picked up the guy?"

"Yeah. The guy looked kind of soft, if you ask me, but he wasn't interested right away. In fact, he seemed a little wary. This was all happening right in front of me, so to speak; otherwise, I wouldn't have noticed. She was persistent, though and he seemed to get interested...but then, he left a few minutes later and she followed him out."

"What about Mr. Surly?" Tony asked.

"He followed both of them."

"Would you be able to work with a sketch artist to make a composite of the man you saw?"

"Sure. Like I said, I remember him."

"Okay, one more question. Is this the guy she picked up?" Tony held out a picture of Tim.

"That's him. Why? What did he do?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phone was ringing when Gibbs and Tim arrived at NCIS. It being Sunday, there was little going on...which was a distinct relief for all concerned.

"Gibbs."

"_Jethro, I have something you might like to see."_

"On my way, Ducky." He hung up. "McGee, have a seat."

"Yeah, Boss." Tim stumbled over to his desk and sank down on his chair, looking tired and forlorn. He hesitated but then left him there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"These are the strangest stab wounds I have ever seen. Sloppy work, weak thrusts. Considering the number of times the knife penetrated, at least fourteen separate wounds, I would have expected there to be some..._passion _behind it."

"And there's not?"

"Not based on the force exerted in stabbing her. They seem almost half-hearted attempts at murder. In fact, were I to exert some darkly humorous interpretation, I would say that the killer was practicing his technique...and failing miserably."

"Cause of death, then?"

"Apparently exsanguination, although her liver _was_ perforated and that would have sped up the process."

"No defensive wounds, though?"

"No...and it would not have been an instantaneous death nor would it have been painless. Either she was already unconscious or totally inured to physical pain."

"Could the wounds be explained by someone being drugged?"

"Ah, so Timothy _was_ the victim of a spiked drink, then?"

"Yes, Rohypnol."

"Ah, well, not with Rohypnol as the agent of choice. He wouldn't have had the ability to exert even the force shown here."

"What about using his non-dominant hand?"

"Oh, yes, the knife was glued to his right hand, was it not?" Ducky observed. "I still think it unlikely. Considering the lack of resistance on our victim's part, even right-handed he would have been able to exhibit more force were he physically-capable...and I doubt he would have been. The drug was administered when?"

"Doc says at around two a.m."

"Her time of death was over an hour later. No, Jethro. Timothy could not have done it, no matter _what_ he supposedly remembers. By that time, his motor control would have been nearly non-existent...as would his grip on consciousness. He simply would not have the wherewithal to stab her so many times."

"So...why wouldn't she resist? Was she drugged as well?"

"It does seem that way, the only rational explanation for what she is telling me. I just sent Mr. Palmer upstairs with a blood sample for Abigail, although I'm sure she has had plenty of them already. We'll know soon enough."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim tried to think more clearly, tried to make the memories of last night work, but the only thing he could remember was being angry at her...killing her...killing...Allison.

"Her name was Allison. Allison...Allison what?" He racked his brain trying to remember. She had introduced herself. She'd been very forward...which had put him off at first. He dropped his head in his hands and massaged his temples as he tried to think, but his head suddenly seemed very heavy, and it was so hard to think...so slowly, it dropped all the way to the desk, pillowed in his arms...asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I know what you want, Gibbs, and I'm not done yet," Abby said without looking back.

"What do you have?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm running the blood sample Ducky gave me. It should be done soon, but right now, I'm more interested in a partial print I got off the blade of the knife."

"The blade?"

"Correct!" she announced. "I'm running it through IAFIS. I was thinking that whoever glued the knife to Tim's hand would have _had_ to hold onto it somehow while he was putting the glue on it. And..." She pushed a few buttons. "...Voila! See? It's right near the hilt. It matches the partial I got off Tim's keys."

The program was still running without a hit.

"Is Tim okay?" she asked.

"He will be once we prove to him that he's innocent."

"Prove to _him_?"

"Yeah. He still thinks he did it. Can't remember what happened."

"Right. I saw the drugs in his vomit. What joyous evidence I've processed from the McGee family. GHB for Sarah. A roofie for Tim. Are they magnets for date-rape drugs?" Abby swallowed and then spun around when her computer dinged a result.

At the same time, Ducky popped up on the camera from Autopsy.

"Jethro! I just found something else that is, in Abigail's words, hinky."

"What is it, Ducky?"

"I just discovered an injection site on the poor girl's arm."

"Injection?"

"Yes."

"Of what, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"Phenobarbital. The dosage was...wow."

"How much?"

"Enough that if she hadn't been stabbed to death, she'd have died of an overdose."

"You hear that, Ducky?"

"Absolutely. Phenobarbital. Who _is _our mystery man? I am quite convinced that it could not be Timothy, not that I ever believed otherwise."

"I don't know _who_ he is, but I know what he looks like!" Tony announced as he came in. He held up a composite sketch. "This is from the bartender at the club we went to last night. He remembers the guy and the girl. Says they both had been coming in the last few nights. Called him surly."

"He's Jon David Forsgern," Abby said.

"And how do you know that? Another one of your dates?" Tony asked.

Abby stuck her tongue out at him. "No...because he was arrested for assaulting his girlfriend, Allison Clements, last year. He was booked but then the charges were dropped. Fortunately for us, his fingerprints were _not_ dropped."

"Is this our victim as well? You have a picture for her?"

"I thought that was _your _job," Abby said, pointing at Tony and Ziva.

Gibbs looked at them.

"That's right. It _is_ our job." They left...in a hurry.

"I'll get back to my exciting evidence."

"Good work, Abbs."

"Just make sure Tim doesn't get arrested, okay? I don't want to have to deal with that again."

"He's not getting arrested. He's not guilty."

Abby hugged Gibbs. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he said and kissed her on the cheek.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim slept at his desk and Tony and Ziva modulated their voices accordingly, although he didn't even stir.

"Okay, Boss, Jon David Forsgern. Age thirty-four. Arrested for assault of Allison Clements. Subsequently, charges were dropped. He works at a veterinary clinic in Arlington."

Ziva took up the narrative. "He has been arrested six times for getting into fights in various places, including two different bars. Clements issued a restraining order against him for about two weeks before rescinding it."

"When was that?"

"Three months ago."

"Not very certain about things was she," Tony commented. He clicked the remote. "Allison Clements. Age thirty. Currently residing in Ducky's capable hands." Gibbs glared. "Uh...formerly of Arlington, Virginia. She works at a catering service. Arrested once...for causing a disturbance when she and her boyfriend, one Jon Forsgern, had a shouting match in the middle of a restaurant and refused to leave to continue it."

"No other charges. Based on the preliminaries, she seems to be...a normal sort of person," Ziva said, "With the exception of her apparently volatile relationship with Forsgern."

Tony looked sideways at Tim still blissfully asleep. "Uh, Boss, we found the other bar they went to."

"And?"

"And Clements and McGee were seen coming in together...followed by Forsgern who subsequently bought them both drinks. They stayed for only a few minutes before McGee stood and left, according to the bartender, in quite a huff. Clements followed...and then so did Forsgern. Maybe she was asking him to join them in a _menage a trois_."

Gibbs slapped the back of his head.

"The bartender said that there was a bit of an argument out in the parking lot, but that McGee ended up getting into a car with the other two," Ziva finished. "She watched to make sure that there were no problems on the property."

"What time was that?"

"That was just after two," Tony said. "McGee left the club at around one-thirty."

"And Clements was killed just after three."

"BOLO is out on Forsgern."

"You have his address?"

"Got it."

"Well?" Gibbs asked, eyebrows up.

"On it, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The BOLO, as it turned out, was unnecessary. Forsgern's car was in the driveway of a neat trailer. Tony and Ziva walked to the front door and knocked. The door opened, revealing their surly suspect.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"Jon Forsgren?" Tony asked.

"Yeah...but I don't go by Jon. I go by Dave. Spelling it differently doesn't change it from being one of the dullest names in existence."

"NCIS. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and Officer Ziva David. We'd like you to come with us."

"NCIS? What's that?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Navy? What's the Navy want with me?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"How long has it been since you saw your girlfriend?"

"This is about Al? Why is the Navy interested in her?"

"Answer the question, Mr. Forsgern," Ziva said.

"Last night...or rather this morning. She was being stupid again." His tone was not surly. It was more like good-natured frustration with a silly acquaintance.

"Please, come with us."

"Um, sure, okay." He stepped out of the house and walked with them to the car. He seemed too...normal for this to be their killer, but the evidence pointed to him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What's all this about?" Forsgern asked.

Gibbs sat down and stared at him. Then, he put out the pictures of Allison Clements.

"This is what it's about."

Forsgern didn't show shock or horror at her death, at the state of her body. He just picked up one of the photos and touched Allison's face.

"I loved you the most," he whispered.

"Could you tell me why your fingerprints were at Timothy McGee's place of residence, the same place where Allison Clements was killed?"

"He's Navy? He didn't _look_ Navy."

"He's not. He's an NCIS special agent," Gibbs said, his voice hard.

Forsgern rolled his eyes. "She sure can pick 'em. All the guys in that club and she picked the one cop in the place."

"Why did you kill her?" Gibbs asked.

"He's going to deny it," Tony said from observation. "He's way too calm."

"It is strange," Ziva said. "I do not know _what_ he is going to say."

"Mr. Forsgern?" Gibbs asked again.

He looked up from the photo, almost surprised that Gibbs was still there. "Why?"

"Yes, why."

"Because I loved her the most. I won."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Tim opened his eyes and wondered briefly why he was sleeping at his desk. Then...he remembered and he closed his eyes again, wishing that it could all go away. He felt marginally better than he had earlier that day, but not about the fact that he'd killed Allison.

"Clements," he said aloud and looked around at the empty bullpen. _Her name was Allison Clements._ Remembering that didn't make him feel any better. He wished they'd just arrest him already. Why hadn't they? They had the evidence. He'd _told_ them that he was guilty. ...and yet, here he was sitting at his desk, not in holding or even in interrogation. Why?

He started to stand but still felt a little dizzy and sank back to his desk. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go anyway. Since NCIS was investigating, they were the ones who should be arresting him...and they _weren't_. He continued morosely along the train of thought. It made sense that he would have killed Allison under the influence of drugs. He honestly couldn't think of a reason he would do it with his mind clear, although why she'd drugged him was beyond his ability to comprehend...but then, so were a lot of things.

What had he been so angry about? He couldn't quite remember. It was there, tantalizingly close to coming clear, but not quite. The time after that was blurred in such a way that made him think he'd never really remember it. A flash here and there. He shuddered in recollection of watching himself stabbing Allison, over and over. Strange, though, how there was no emotion in the memory. As horrified as he was now, there was no sense of horror in the memory itself. If anything, there was only a vague disquiet.

"_I'll be honest with you, Tim. I have an ulterior motive for all this."_

"_What's that?"_

"_I mean, you're great and all, but... well, you know Dave? The guy that's been following me around?"_

"_Yeah?" His heart started to sink. This had happened before. Rejection._

"_He's actually more than a friend."_

_Tim sighed._

"_I just need you to act as though–"_

"_No!" Tim said angrily. He stood up. What with Tony's snide comments (all too accurate at times) and the strange spinning sensation beginning in his head, he wasn't in the mood to act like he wasn't bothered by the fact that she was just using him to get back at her boyfriend...or back with or whatever. "I'm not going to be an actor in your little game!" He turned around and..._

...and then what? She had followed him into the parking lot, but that's where things really went downhill in terms of what he remembered happening. Now, however, he knew why he'd been angry. He'd been used. Again. Tony had been right. He groaned and rested his head in his hands.

"Timothy? Are you feeling all right?"

"What?" Tim lifted his head, feeling some faint whisperings of nausea. Ducky was approaching him, looking much too normal considering the insanity in which he currently resided.

"Oh, you do still look pale. Have you eaten anything today?"

At the mention of food, Tim began to feel sick and he closed his eyes.

"Ah, I see. Yes, well, perhaps that was imprudent of me to suggest."

"Do you need something, Ducky?" Tim asked faintly.

"Not at all. I just thought you might appreciate the company."

Tim gave a shaky sigh and dropped his head...all the way to his arms which were laying on the desk.

"What is the matter?"

"Why..." He lifted his head. "I'm guilty, Ducky! I've said it over and over again, but no one believes me!"

Ducky gave a sad chuckle. "My dear boy, you are _not_ guilty."

"I _am_! I remember killing her. I don't know why...not exactly. I don't know...any of the details, but I know I did it. ...and yet, I'm sitting here, waiting for...I don't know what!"

"Timothy," Ducky began, dragging Tony's chair over to the desk, "you could not have murdered the girl who was killed. It is physically improbable, if not impossible, for you to have done so. The drug you were given, the time elapsed between the administration of the drug and the time of death are too far apart for you to have been able to do anything but sit and blink."

"But I _remember_ doing it!"

Before Ducky could answer, the elevator dinged open revealing a very somber Tony and Ziva. Gibbs joined the solemn group.

"What is it, Jethro?"

"McGee, come with us."

Tim stood, wobbled and would have fallen over his desk if Ducky hadn't been there to steady him.

"Are you arresting me, now?"

"No. We're going to Abby's lab."

"Why?"

Gibbs walked over to Tim and looked him square in the eye. "Because you need to know the _truth_, McGee. That's what I told you we were looking for...and we found it."

"...as psychotic and crazy as it is," Tony muttered behind him.

"I already know the truth, Boss."

Gibbs smiled and shook his head. "No, you don't. You know part of the truth and you have turned that part into an entire lie. So, come on."

Tim sighed, not totally following what Gibbs said, just feeling tired and wanting the whole thing to be over. He, then, lurched forward at the unexpected swat Gibbs gave the back of his head.

"That wasn't a request, McGee. Let's go."

Tim nodded and followed the group to the elevator and into Abby's lab.

"Tim!" Abby ran forward and flung her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. "Sorry, but I'm glad you don't have to get arrested."

"Abby...I..."

"Shush!" she ordered. "And sit!" She shoved him down onto a stool.

"Abby!"

"No interruptions, Tim! This is a court of law! Now, as you are the prosecution in your case, you go first. Why is that you think you're guilty?"

"Abby," Tim said again.

"Humor her, Probie. She likes to build things up, you know that," Tony said lightly, but his heart wasn't in it.

Tim gave a long sigh. What he wanted was to lock himself up in a little room and...sleep or cry or something.

"Why do you think you killed Allison Clements?" Ziva asked.

"I saw myself do it."

"Elaborate. What are the events that led to you allegedly stabbing her?"

"Because I was mad at her...because she proved that Tony was right. Again...and I'm tired of it. She told me that she was just using me because of something with her boyfriend Dave something or other. I was mad and I didn't feel very good. The next thing I can remember, I'm stabbing her with a knife. I remember my hand moving up and down...and I remember the blood." He looked around at them all. "We love it when the guilty parties confess. Why won't you accept _my_ confession?"

"Because you have it all wrong, Probie. Miss Sciuto?"

Abby smiled and nodded. "Okay. Here's the timeline, so far as we know...and we know quite a bit. You, Tim, were with Tony at the club from about ten-thirty to around one-thirty in the morning. I'm really surprised that he managed to keep you there for that long. I mean, I can't remember the last time that you–"

"Abby," Gibbs warned.

"Right. Anyway. Allison Clements and Jon David Forsgern came into the club at around one a.m. She picked you out and propositioned you."

Tim flushed.

"Well, didn't she?"

"Not...like that," Tim muttered.

"Are you sure you remember?" Abby asked.

"Abby," Gibbs said again.

"So...Tony gave his less-than-complimentary warning and you left. She followed you and you went to a bar."

"Yeah. I remember all that."

"Okay, so...while you were at the bar, Forsgern drugged your drink. You were nearly passed out when he persuaded you to get into his car."

"I don't remember even talking to him."

"That's because you were pretty much gone," Tony said. "From what Forsgern said, you started to feel the effects really fast. In fact, they were worried that you'd be out before they could get you into your apartment."

"Why?"

"This is where it gets creepy and weird."

"Or hinky, you might say," Abby added. "So, now, it's after two, probably nearly two-thirty by the time they get you to your apartment."

"How did they know where I live?" Tim asked.

"Easy. They looked through your wallet."

"Oh."

"From two-thirty on, we do not need to _tell_ you what happened," Ziva said. "You may see for yourself."

"See?"

"Yeah. See...and you might wish you hadn't. I know I do."

Tim swallowed and turned his attention to the screen. He saw his apartment. Allison, half-naked, was throwing rose petals around his living room and laughing.

"_How much do you love me?"_ she asked whoever was holding the camera.

"_You'll see how much."_

"That's Forsgern. He's already admitted to it."

Tim nodded and watched as the camera followed Allison on her slightly-manic frolick back to the bedroom. He was lying on his bed, his eyes were open, but he wasn't doing much of anything...not even when Allison jumped onto the bed and started kissing him passionately. Every so often, she would look up at the camera and smile.

"_How much do you love me?"_

The camera shook and then, it was put down... _probably on my dresser,_ Tim thought vaguely.

"_This is how much."_

Tim watched with growing horror as he watched Forsgern walk over to where Allison had resumed kissing his unresponsive body, seemingly enjoying herself. He grabbed her, pulled a syringe out of his pocket and jammed it into her arm. She stared at him for a long moment, the smile fading.

"_What was that?"_

"_I'm showing you how much. I love you more than you could ever love me."_

"_I'm waiting for you to prove it,"_ she said, smiling again.

"_Just wait."_

"What was that?" Tim asked.

"Phenobarbital."

"Where did he get a hold of _that_?"

"It would be easy," Jimmy said.

Tim jumped and looked back. He hadn't even realized Jimmy was there.

"Easy?" Abby asked.

"Well, yeah...not that...not that _I_ have used...I mean well..."

"Spit it out, Jimmy," Tony said.

"You said he worked at a veterinary clinic."

"Yeah?"

"Well, phenobarbital is used as a treatment for epilepsy in cats and dogs. He could have got it from there."

That was interesting, but Tim's eyes had already been drawn irresistibly back to the screen.

Allison continued her kissing and laughing, but then, after another fifteen minutes, she began to act drowsy. She looked at the camera again as she fell down onto Tim.

"_What's happening?"_

Her eyes began to close. The camera shook and was set down once more. Forsgern appeared and walked over to the bed. He leaned over and picked up Allison in his arms, kissed her passionately and then whispered something in her ear.

"He told us that he said he loved her the most."

"And now he will prove it," Ziva said, her voice dropping.

"What is he going to do?" Tim asked, although it seemed as though a part of him knew.

"Watch, McGee," Gibbs said. "You won't believe it unless you see it."

Tim swallowed and became aware of a hand on his arm. He couldn't pull his eyes off the screen, but he was grateful to whomever was there.

Forsgern walked out of the shot after laying Allison down gently on the bed.

"What's going to happen?" Tim asked.

"Wait and see," Abby said, no longer joking.

The knife appeared in the shot first. Then, Forsgern stood there. He looked so calm. So...sane...and yet, Tim could see that what was going to happen was not sane in the least bit.

"_I love you the most. I win."_

He turned to the bed, but instead of walking to the side on which Allison lay...now unconscious, he approached Tim's inert body. Tim's eyes were still slightly open and there were some sounds that might have been words but were unintelligible. Tim watched, swallowing nervously, as Forsgern picked up his right hand and laid it open on his chest. Then, he pulled out a tube of superglue and ran it up and down the hilt of the knife. After using what was probably nearly the entire tube, he set it securely on Tim's palm and then curled his fingers around it. Tim became aware that he had begun rubbing his hands together again.

"It's all right, Timothy." Ducky's voice was very close to him.

"He's not...he didn't...," Tim whispered, unable to speak any louder.

He did. As Tim watched, Forsgern, once he was certain that the knife was securely attached to Tim's hand, rolled Tim over, moving him close to Allison's body...and then, never changing expression, he raised Tim's hand over her chest and rammed it down. Tim heard a low moan and only belatedly realized that he himself had made the sound. It seemed to take forever as Forsgern calmly killed his girlfriend using Tim as the murder weapon. Tim was breathing noisily through his mouth as he watched, unable to look away, watching as his hand wielded a knife...but had no control over its motion.

There were no jokes. Only silence as Forsgern finished, rolled Tim back over and then, blood-covered, walked to the camera, picked it up and filmed in horrific detail exactly what he had wrought. The last words before the movie ended were the same ones he had spoken before.

"_I love you the most. I win."_

Tim thought he might be sick...again. He was glad he was sitting down because he felt as though his legs wouldn't hold him at all. Horrible. Awful. Sickening. Psychotic. There was no single word that accurately described how he felt at seeing himself so terribly innocent.

"Why?" he asked, still in a whisper.

Gibbs was the one who answered. "It was the last play in a game that had been going on for more than a year. They recorded it all on tape. They were trying to prove to one another which one loved the other more. It started getting more violent in the last few months. This was the end of it."

"That was love?"

"In their world," Gibbs said. "And that's the truth, McGee. You didn't kill her."

"You're innocent, Probie," Tony said.

Tim shook his head. "I'm not guilty...but I'm not innocent...never again." He stood up, took a step and folded like a deck of cards, glad of the darkness that hid him from what he'd seen.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_One week later..._

Forsgern pleaded guilty to murder. He seemed to have no problem with that once he'd been discovered. He said that was part of proving his love...that he had loved Allison enough to kill her to keep her from being with anyone else. That the murder was obviously premeditated was complicated by the strange insanity that seemed to have dictated the couple's actions. It was up to the courts to decide what would happen. NCIS handed the case over to Metro when it became a civilian killing another civilian. Their part was over.

For Tim, however, it wasn't over. He had engaged in a sanitizing of his apartment, even going so far as to buy a whole new bed just because he couldn't bear the thought of what had happened in the one he already owned. After the new bed came, he set it up...and then, checked into a hotel. He would be in therapy, but all the therapy in the world couldn't erase from his brain what he had seen, what had been done to him...and why. Privately, he made a vow that he was never going to date again. Ever. In fact, what was so great about human interaction anyway? He had seen too many times, sometimes in his own life, how easy it was for a relationship to shrivel and die. Why deal with that possibility? No reason at all.

He spent four nights in the hotel, not actually mentioning to anyone that he wasn't staying in his apartment, but he should have known that his friends would notice.

On his fifth night, his phone rang.

"_Probie!"_

"What, Tony?"

"_We're going out!"_

Tim closed his eyes. "No, we're not."

"_Come on, McGee!"_

"No." He hung up.

Two minutes later, there was a knock on his door. He looked at it. It couldn't possibly be Tony. It couldn't...

"Probie! Come on! Open up!"

"Tony?" He walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Yes, it was Tony. He opened the door. "What are you–? How did you–?"

"Oh, come on, give me a little credit," Tony said, grinning. "I'm the senior field agent!"

Tim smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you are. You're going two places. First, you're checking out of this hotel and going back to your apartment. Second, you're going to enjoy a nice night out with your friends...and I mean it when I say you're going to enjoy it. Then, you'll go back to your apartment and you'll sleep there."

"That's three," Tim said.

"Two places. Three steps. Are you coming willingly or do I have to get violent?"

"I beat you last time we had it out."

"Ha, you only _think_ you beat me." He grew serious. "McGee, you need this."

Tim sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know."

"Good. Then, let's go."

Tim nodded and began to gather his stuff.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...and I told the man that I certainly had no idea what had happened to his cow, nor why it had suddenly turned green. Somehow, I don't think he believed me," Ducky finished.

There was riotous laughter around the table even though no one could remember how in the world they had managed to work the conversation around to Ducky's successful dyeing of a jersey cow. Tim laughed as well, although he was noticeably withdrawn. There was a pause in the conversation and then, it took the serious turn everyone had expected.

"Timothy, you do realize, I hope, that what happened is unlikely to ever happen again."

Tim gave a small smile. "I know."

"That doesn't matter, though, does it, Probie."

"Not really."

"We've seen psychos before, you know."

Tim nodded. "I know. Quite a few of them."

"This is different," Abby said.

"Yeah, it is...because I wasn't investigating it. It was happening to me."

"But you were exonerated...before you were even charged," Jimmy pointed out.

"That's not what bothers me, Jimmy," Tim said, "although I'm very grateful that you guys didn't listen to me. I'm guessing that Metro wouldn't have been so intent on finding the truth once I told them what I thought had happened." He tried to smile but it didn't last.

"Then, what is it?" Gibbs asked.

Tim was quiet for a long time. For once, no one tried to break the silence, to lift the mood. They all just waited. Then, he looked around at them all.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked.

"What's wrong?" Ducky repeated.

"Yeah. What is wrong with me that, of all the people in that club, _I'm_ the one who got picked up by a psycho? Why is it that, of the relationships I've had in the last four years, not a single one has been...normal or worthwhile or long-lasting? Why is it that, like Tony said, sane women aren't interested in me? Do I have some sort of a sign on my forehead saying that I'm an easy mark for crazy people?" He smiled as he said it, but there was a sheen of tears in his eyes. "I guess I'm just tired of being the one who gets picked for those kinds of things."

There was another long silence...with everyone trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound trite.

"I...hope that you're not including me in the list, Tim," Abby said, smiling.

Tim smiled back. "No. That's why I said four years instead of six...or ten."

"Hiding yourself away is not going to make things better," Gibbs said.

The smile faded again. "I know...but it's easier. I don't have to worry about it if I don't talk to anyone."

"McGee, we are okay people are we not?" Ziva asked.

Tim smiled. "Yeah, you guys are okay."

"What about our waiter?" Abby asked. "He seems quite normal."

"He probably is."

"And that family over there where the kids, who are _really_ too young to be in a place like this, are trying to eat with their hands...what about them?" Tony asked.

"They seem all right," Tim said.

"So..." Tony said.

"So...I know that most people are nice, normal people, Tony," Tim admitted.

"That means that you can't keep staying in hotels and not talking to people."

"I think I've had more than my share of psychos."

"Then, maybe you're done!"

"I just don't think I am. I think I'm jinxed."

Abby put her arms around him. "Then, isn't a good thing you have so many friends to keep you out of trouble."

"And I'm sorry, McGee," Tony said. "If I really wanted to keep you from getting involved with her, I could have been a bit nicer about it."

"You? Nice?" Tim asked, but he smiled in acceptance of the apology.

"Well, I could have at least gone without the sane women crack...especially under the circumstances."

"Yeah."

"But, you know, Timothy, you are not the only one to deal with people of...less than sane minds," Ducky said. "I remember when I was at Eton that..."

Ducky's story about the woman who thought that the only way to truly show affection was to run naked through the streets shouting "Eureka!" over and over _a la _Archimedes may not have been the best choice of stories, but it lightened the mood considerably...especially when it turned out that Ducky had decided to join her. At the end of the evening, Ziva decided to give him a ride home since she was closest to him. Everyone was just a bit effusive in saying good night, but Tim appreciated the sentiment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We are here, McGee," Ziva said.

"Yeah, I know."

"That means that you are required to get out of the car."

Tim laughed. "Yeah, I know."

Ziva turned off the engine. "Would you like some help?"

"Yeah."

"Very well." She got out and walked around to the other side. Before she could open the door for him, Tim got out himself. She walked with him to his apartment...and then, went inside with him.

"It looks normal, doesn't it," Tim said.

"Well, as normal as your apartment ever looks to someone who is not a computer expert."

Tim chuckled. "True."

They went into the bedroom, which was also very normal-looking. Tim was obviously apprehensive but he turned and looked at Ziva.

"Thanks for bringing me home, Ziva. I'll see you tomorrow."

"What? You are going to kick me out?" she asked, smiling mischievously.

"Uh..." Tim's mind jammed. "...no...I figured you'd want to go. It's kind of late."

"Why don't we watch a movie on your very nice television? I will leave after that."

"Um...okay."

Ziva walked over to the bed and sat down. When Tim didn't immediately join her, she patted the other side.

"Sit."

"Okay." Tim sat down.

It took an hour for him to relax on the bed. By the time the movie was over, he was asleep. Ziva smiled at him, lying so quietly. She leaned over.

"Good night, McGee," she whispered.

Tim's eyes opened for a brief second before closing again.

"'Night...Ziva."

She smiled again and then quietly let herself out. It might take time, but Tim would be okay.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up the next morning, at first, afraid to roll over and look at the other side of the bed. Finally, he forced himself to do so. It was empty...with the exception of a piece of paper. He picked it up.

_McGee,_

_You did not get a chance to see the entire movie. Should you wish to finish it, you may call me._

_Ziva_

He smiled. That was a much better way to wake up than he had a week ago. There was a slight churning of worry, but it was manageable. Somehow, he knew, at last, he knew that he'd be okay. Eventually.

FINIS!


End file.
